


For Liam, Forever Ago

by ThankYouMerlin



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-06
Updated: 2013-08-06
Packaged: 2017-12-22 15:40:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/914983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThankYouMerlin/pseuds/ThankYouMerlin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And you know it's different now but that doesn't make it easier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Liam, Forever Ago

And you know it’s different now but that doesn’t stop you from wanting to write a hundred letters to him. It doesn’t stop you from drafting emails, text messages, tweets. It doesn’t stop you from scrolling to his name in your contact list on a particularly dark night and hovering over the “call” option. 

It doesn’t stop you from sometimes bundling yourself up in a jumper that used to belong to him before he slipped away. It doesn’t stop you from looking at the picture you still have on your bedside table from when you were closer, from when you meant as much to him as he still does to you. 

It doesn’t stop you from spending more nights than you should at the bar. It doesn’t stop you from bringing home boys that look like him or boys that sound like him. It doesn’t stop you from getting drunk enough that every boy looks, sounds like him. It doesn’t stop you from kicking them out before the sun comes up, before you can sober up enough to realize that it isn’t him. 

That it will never be him. 

It doesn’t stop you from knowing that if you called he would drop everything to talk to you, the same way he always has. It doesn’t stop you from knowing what his voice will sound like when he picks up after reading your name on the caller ID. It doesn’t stop you from knowing that eventually his voice will turn contrite, sincere even as he’s hanging up on you to be somewhere else, to probably be with someone else.

And you know it’s different now but that certainly doesn’t stop the dreams. You close your eyes and there he is, as young as you remember him and as old as he is now. The crinkles by his eyes when he smiles are the same, though you don’t know if that’s true anymore. His shoulders are just as broad and he still smells like home. And you know it’s a dream but it’s okay. Because he’s here and he’s yours. In this dream he is yours and it’s better that way. 

But you always wake up. You wake up facing a picture of him on your bedside table and you sometimes wonder if he still has pictures of you around his flat the way that you do. You sometimes wonder if he thinks about sending you a text, if he hovers over the call option on nights that are particularly dark. You know he doesn’t wonder about sending letters, you’ve always been the more old fashioned of the two. 

You wonder all these things but you do nothing to find the answers. You wonder all these things but you never write a letter, you never send a text, you never press call. You wonder when you will stop wondering. You wonder if you will ever stop wondering.

And sometimes you get angry. Because why are you the one drafting emails and tweets and texts? Why are you the one hovering over the call option on particularly dark nights? Why isn’t it him? Why is it never him? 

Why is it always him?

And you know it’s different now but that doesn’t stop you from wishing it wasn’t. It doesn’t stop you from wishing everything was back to how it used to be. It doesn’t stop you from imagining sometimes, what it would be like, if you had never stopped. 

If it all hadn’t stopped. 

And you know it’s different now but that doesn’t mean you don’t miss him. It doesn’t mean that you stop thinking about him. You wish it could rain without you missing him, you wish it could be sunny without having to miss him, you wish it could be cloudy without missing him. 

It doesn’t stop you from laughing at a joke only because you know he would find it funny. It doesn’t stop you from listening to the songs he introduced you to when you would both lie awake on nights that didn’t seem particularly dark. It doesn’t stop you from reading the messages you still have saved. 

There’s one night where you’re drunk and angry and you delete the last voicemail he left you, the one he finished with a drawn out, “I loveeeeee youuuuuuuuu,” before giggling and hanging up. He was tipsy and you had been sitting beside him, but he’d told you not to answer and left you a voicemail. 

“For later,” he’d said. “For when you miss me.” 

And he hadn’t meant it like that. He’d meant it for when you planned to only be apart for days, hours, minutes, not weeks, months, years. But you saved it anyways. You listened to it over and over again for weeks, months, years. And then one night you’d deleted it. You don’t think you’ve ever hated yourself as much as you did in that moment. 

You get more tattoos and they make you think of how much he loved your tattoos; how you went with him when he got his first. You smoke more than you should and it makes you think of all the times he told you they would kill you quicker. You smoke more because of it. 

You read more than you should but only books with unhappy endings. Because it would hurt too much to know that someone is getting a happy ending while you’re stuck here. Wherever you are. In a place without him. 

And you know it’s different now but you don’t understand why it has to be. You don’t understand why you can’t just put a pen to paper and write him a goddamn letter. You don’t understand why you can’t type up an email, text message, or tweet and just goddamn send it. You don’t understand why you’re too much of a coward to just hit “call” on a night that is too goddamn dark.

And you know it’s different now but that doesn’t stop you from answering when he calls a few days later. You’re surprised and confused, and then you’re worried. _What happened, who died, is everything okay?_ He laughs and tells you that everything’s fine, he’s just missed you; it’s just been too long. 

You spend hours on the phone and it’s good enough, it _is_ , but you know it’s only good enough because it has to be. 

You tell him all the jokes you only laughed at because you knew he would find them funny and you smile to yourself when he laughs at all of them. You tell him you’re trying to quit smoking and he tells you that he’s glad; you swallow around the lie. 

He tells you about his family, about the work he’s doing now, and it’s nice. It’s nice to hear his voice, to know that it still sounds the same as you imagine.

And you know it’s different now but that doesn’t stop you from saying “yes” when he hesitantly asks if you’d like to grab coffee later this week. It doesn’t stop you from saying “yes” before he even finishes his question. It doesn’t stop the smile the spreads across your face when he tells you that that’s great and that he’ll text you the address of a coffee shop he knows that’s halfway between where you’ve been and where he is now. 

It doesn’t stop you from staring at the message with the address until you fall asleep. 

And you know it’s different now but it doesn’t feel that way when you’re sitting across from each other in a coffee shop, with the same thing you have always ordered, and feet tangled beneath the table as if years and miles haven’t separated you. It doesn’t feel that way when he pulls you into a hug and you fit against him the same way that you always have. It doesn’t feel that way when he admits, quietly and unsure, that he doesn’t want to go home just yet, he doesn’t want to leave you yet. 

He drags you into a bookstore because he knows you love the smell, he knows you love to point out books you’ve read and tell him about them. He doesn’t read much himself, but he’s always loved how much you loved it and it’s enough. You point out books you’ve read and he asks if you enjoyed them and you lie and say that they were great, even if they weren’t, because you don’t want him to think you’ve been anything less than fine. You don’t want him to worry. 

You tug him outside with you because you need to smoke. He frowns a little, but holds his tongue because he thinks you’re trying to quit. He thinks this is your first of the day when the reality is that you smoked your way through almost an entire pack in a sorry attempt to calm yourself down this morning. You feel guilty for lying and it turns the smoke sour in your lungs. It’s no more than you deserve, and you know it. 

It isn’t long before you’re saying goodbye, hugging him tightly at the station as his train pulls up. 

We should do this again soon, he whispers against your neck and you nod because you want that. Of course you want that. 

And you know it’s different now but you still make it work. You write him letters, some you give him, some you don’t, but you write them all the same. You send him dozens of emails, thousands of texts, hundreds of tweets. You don’t hover over the “call” option on your phone on particularly dark nights. You simply roll over and he’s there, breathing steady, body warm. 

And you know it’s different now but it’s also better. You get more tattoos and he traces his tongue over every single one. You go with him when he gets a new one. You finally stop smoking because it kills you quicker. You start reading books with happy endings again. 

You finally stop wondering whether he missed you or thought of you because he tells you, whispers it to you one night like it’s a confession. He tells you that he still has pictures of you hanging up in his flat. He tells you about all of the text messages he wanted to send but didn’t. He tells you about all of the times that he wanted to call you, but changed his mind. He tells you that he missed you, all the time, but that he wasn’t sure if he’d missed his chance, wasn’t sure if you even wanted him anymore. 

You laugh and tell him that you’ve always wanted him, you will always want him. And that sounds like a confession too.

You save the first voicemail he leaves that has an “I love you” at the end. He leaves you hundreds more, but the first one is the one you listen to over and over for weeks, months, years. 

And you know it’s different now but it’s everything you’ve ever wanted.

**Author's Note:**

> Title shamelessly taken and manipulated from Bon Iver's "For Emma, Forever Ago."
> 
> Thanks to Marcel and Somerdaye for reading this over. Love you both lots.


End file.
